


Good Things Come

by cuttooth



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Canon Asexual Character, Come Eating, Exhibitionism, Humiliation, M/M, Masturbation, Mild noncon fantasy, Negotiated Kink Scene, Small Penis, Sub Jon, Trans Martin Blackwood, soft dom martin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:40:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24206053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuttooth/pseuds/cuttooth
Summary: “Do you have something you want to show me?”*Jon wants to be humiliated. Martin obliges.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 52
Kudos: 427





	Good Things Come

**Author's Note:**

> Martin humiliates Jon for having an itty bitty adorable cock, and Jon gets off on it. That's it, that's the fic. 
> 
> Thanks to Archive Me, Daddy on discord for planting this idea, y'all are a collection of magnificent minds. 
> 
> Apologies for the pun. I have no excuse.

“Do you have something you want to show me?”

Across the room, Jon swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing. He nods. Martin smiles up at him from his chair.

“Sorry, I didn’t hear you?”

“Y-yes.” Jon speaks hesitantly, his voice soft and scratchy.

“What is it?” Martin prompts. Jon swallows again. His arms hang by his sides, and his fingers twitch up towards his palms before going loose again. A dull red flush is starting to creep up his throat beneath the rough of his stubble, telling Martin they’re on the right track already. 

“My—” Jon tips his chin up in mock defiance. “My cock.”

“I see…” Martin taps a finger against his jaw, as if this is the first he’s heard of it. “Well then, you’d better take your trousers off, hadn’t you?”

Jon grasps the hem of his t-shirt and starts to lift it, showing a sliver of soft belly, and Martin’s tempted to let him, except:

“I didn’t say your shirt.” He keeps his tone firm but gentle, no sharp sting of demand, just the certainty that Jon will do what he’s told. 

He does, as he always does, obeying so beautifully. His fingers fumble a little at his fly, excitement betraying their usual grace. Jon unzips and shimmies his trousers off his hips, steps out of them and stands in his t-shirt and pants. His legs are thin, hairy, pocked with worm scars. His ankles are narrow and delicate. He has long toes that curl restlessly into the carpet. 

“Pants too,” Martin tells him, matter-of-fact, and feels warm satisfaction in his chest as Jon’s eyelids slide shut for a moment, his lips parting around an audible exhale. That lovely flush is rising further up his face. Jon’s hands flutter nervously, lift to the waistband of his briefs, thumbs hooking into the fabric. His eyes meet Martin’s, and Martin gives him an encouraging nod. 

“Go ahead.” 

Jon’s cock is small; flaccid, there’s hardly more to it than the blunt head, hooded with soft, wrinkled skin. It’s nothing Martin hasn’t seen before, familiar and beloved to him as every other part of Jon’s body. He’s had it in his hands and his mouth too many times to count, and never thought anything of its size, but Jon? 

Jon has complicated feelings about his penis, and a complicated relationship to both shame and praise, and Martin is more than happy to help him explore those things, to guide Jon lovingly through this particular kink in his wiring. He gives Jon’s cock a curious once over, as if he’s never seen it before, and lets out a delighted laugh.

“Oh!” he exclaims. “What a cute little thing! I can see why you wanted to show it to me—I don’t think I’ve ever seen one so small.” 

The effect of his words is immediately obvious, as Jon’s cheeks flush darker red, his mouth going soft and his breath catching in his throat. It’s so lovely, pulling these reactions from him, the humiliation that sinks into him and draws out a bone deep shiver. 

“Is it—” Jon clears his throat. “Is it too small?” His voice is rough with shame and want, and Martin gives a considering hum, tilting his head. 

“I’m not sure,” he says. “Turn to the side, let me see.”

Jon turns slowly in place, and Martin leans forward, makes a show of scrutinizing. 

“It really is adorable,” he coos gently. “Tiny thing. Does it even work?”

“O-of course,” Jon protests weakly. His face is flaming, and Martin can see from here that his cock is starting to fill, rising away from his balls. He smiles to himself. Jon’s interest in vanilla sex is low and infrequent, but there are a few sure-fire ways to push his buttons, and humiliation is one of them. Even better, as Martin’s discovered, is a mix of praise and humiliation, complimenting him in the most embarrassing, condescending way possible; that’s always guaranteed to get him squirming.

“Show me, then,” he instructs. Jon’s breath hitches again, and he brings his left hand up to cup his cock. There’s not enough of it for his fingers to circle properly, so instead he curls his palm around it, rubbing over the thick head. Jon catches his lip between his teeth as he works it to hardness, his breath coming quicker and his eyes half lidded. 

“Let me see,” Martin tells him, and Jon releases his cock, sweetly obedient as always. It stands stiff at a little less than three inches, flushed dark red and with the slick head starting to push out of its foreskin. Martin’s mouth waters; the sight of Jon, hard and ready for him, is always delicious. But he can’t be too eager. He leans back in his chair. 

“I thought it might get bigger, but it doesn’t, does it?” he muses. “There must be advantages, though, to having such a small one? Nobody can tell if you get a stiffy while you’re wearing trousers.” 

Jon gives a low groan and his hand twitches towards his cock, before falling back to his side. _That’s right, sweetheart,_ Martin thinks, _You’ll wait until I tell you._ That satisfied warmth in his chest is spreading south, dripping liquid heat to pool between his hips. Knowing that Jon’s shame and Jon’s pleasure are equally at his command is intoxicating. He leans back in his chair once again. 

“Were you proud the first time you showed this to someone?” he asks conversationally. “Did you think they’d be impressed with your manhood?” 

“N-no.”

“Oh, you _knew_ what a silly little thing it was, then?”

Jon nods slowly, a fresh wash of color sweeping across his cheekbones. His eyes are hazy, and Martin loves watching how sweetly he slides into this space, malleable to Martin’s every word. He squeezes his own legs together, feeling the heat gather there. 

“Why don’t you come here?” he suggests; it doesn’t take anything more to get Jon’s feet moving. He comes to stand in front of Martin’s chair, close enough to touch, his arms hanging loose by his sides. His cock is an eager, flushed punctuation mark; Martin can see the pre-come gathering at the head, and he wants so badly to take it in his mouth. But he can get more out of Jon, he knows. 

“Much better,” he says, “I could hardly see it from over there. It looks even smaller up close, doesn’t it? Cute as a button.” He leans forward and blows cool across the wet, round head, and Jon shivers. His hands are fisting and relaxing by his sides, and he makes a low sound. 

“Please…” Jon whispers. 

“Please what?” Martin asks. “Do you want to put your little thing in my mouth, Jon? Is that it? I’m not sure I’d even know what to do with one so small, it’s not even half a mouthful.”

“Please, Martin, stop it!” Jon groans, his hands clenching. Martin smiles, because “stop” doesn’t mean “stop” in this game; “pomegranate” means stop, and “stop” means _“please humiliate me more”._ The slick heat between his thighs is building, his own cock throbbing in time to his pulse. 

“Or maybe you want to fuck me?” he muses thoughtfully. “But I don’t think you could even get that little thing inside me, honestly.” 

“Please, please don't,” Jon moans, his eyelids fluttering, his lips wet and parted. His whole body is blushing with humiliation, swaying towards Martin in search of more. He’s absolutely beautiful, and Martin’s waited long enough, he wants his hands on Jon’s skin. 

“Come here, then,” he says gently, patting his thighs. Jon doesn’t hesitate, steps forward and straddles him, his arse settling into Martin’s lap. Martin grasps the jut of his hips, holding him carefully in place as he looks into Jon’s eyes, glazed with arousal. 

“Do you want to put it inside me?” he asks. Jon nods, licking his lips, and Martin rewards him with a little squeeze to his hips. “I bet you could fuck me without me even noticing, couldn’t you? I wouldn’t even feel you slip it in from behind, you could just hump me like a horny little rabbit and I’d never even know your cock was in me.”

Jon whines desperately and his hips buck, his cock seeking friction against Martin’s belly. Martin holds him in place, though, shushes him firmly until Jon stops moving. He considers shucking his own trousers and urging Jon into him, but that’s not what they agreed for this scene, regardless of how keen Jon might be.

“Hmm...maybe next time,” he says. “For now, I want you to touch yourself for me. Show me how you get yourself off.” 

It doesn’t take much for Jon, once Martin gives him permission. He strokes himself quickly, his head bowed almost onto Martin’s shoulder, breathing hard as his hips move in little frantic jerks. Martin lets his hands roam over Jon’s thighs, his arse, up under the t-shirt he’s still wearing to stroke the warm stretch of his back. 

“Good boy,” he murmurs, “That’s it, look at that sweet little cock, it’s so eager, isn’t it? Come on, let me see it, show me how that cute little thing looks when it comes.” He keeps it going, a soft, encouraging stream of condescending praise that makes Jon toss his head and moan: “Please, stop, please don’t…” 

After a short while, Jon’s whole body stiffens and he gives a quiet sigh, and when Martin looks he can see the semen caught in Jon’s cupped hand, his cock still twitching. 

“Oh very good,” he breathes. “That’s a lot of come for such a small cock, isn’t it? You should probably clean it up.”

Jon raises his head slowly, as if it’s incredibly heavy. His eyes are hazy and heavy lidded, but he lifts his hand to his mouth and starts to lick it carefully clean. 

“Good boy,” Martin coos at him as he does, and gently tweaks his spent cock. Jon whimpers, and Martin decides this is a good place to end the scene. He cups his hands to Jon’s flushed, sweaty face. “All right, sweetheart?”

Jon gives a slow, groggy nod, his eyes still a little unfocused. “Yes…” he breathes. “Yes, I’m good.” 

“Good. Do you want to come here for a cuddle?” Martin spreads his arms, and Jon sinks forward into them, resting his body against Martin’s. His head tucks into Martin’s shoulder, and Martin holds him for a while as his breathing returns to normal. 

“You did so well for me, Jon,” he says quietly. “You were lovely. Did you have a nice time?”

“Mmm…” Jon mutters against his neck. “It was good.” 

“That’s good. You know I love you, don’t you? I love everything about you, you’re beautiful from head to toe and I wouldn’t change one single thing.” 

“You don’t have to reassure me, Martin,” Jon grumbles, sounding like he's coming back to himself. “I _asked_ for this, remember?” 

“I know,” Martin says, “But I like telling you how much I love you.”

“Hmm,” Jon makes an indecipherable sound, then: “Thank you. Love you too.” 

They stay curled together for a while, warm and close, and eventually Jon says:

“Did you like it?”

Martin laughs. “Getting to embarrass you and make you blush so adorably, and then tell you when to touch yourself so you got off in my arms? Yes, Jon, I liked it. It was...very hot.” 

“Oh,” Jon says. “You didn’t—?”

“I didn’t want anything to distract me from how lovely you were being.” Martin squeezes his thighs together; heat is still blooming there, not helped by the warm weight of Jon in his arms, pliant and easy for him. 

“I could go down on you, if you’d like?” Somehow Martin has never _quite_ got used to Jon talking about sex in plain terms, and those words from his mouth send another rush of arousal through him. Right now though, taking care of Jon is giving him more satisfaction than a simple orgasm. He pulls Jon closer and presses a kiss into his hair. 

“Maybe later,” he says. “For now I’d rather stay right here.” 

“Glad to oblige,” Jon murmurs happily, and tucks his head against Martin’s shoulder again.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me @cuttoothed on tumblr.


End file.
